Moments In Time, Moments In Space
by Ygrain33
Summary: Jack and Shepard romance throughout ME3, giving them more space than the game did. A sequel to On the Other Side. Rated mainly for language.
1. Lost

She's high on booze, and crack, and pinkies, and whatever she can get her hands on fast enough to flood even her superfast biotic metabolism.

She's high on adrenaline and blood, as well, beating and blasting her way through Omega's bars – bars and their denizens both.

Somewhere along the way, she notices a familiar face – or rather, its presence somehow soaks in, through the red haze.

_The scarred fucker. Massani._

_One-eye as good as anyone else._

When she makes her move, though, he just snorts and says he doesn't give pity fucks.

She sends him flying across the bar, or so she wants, but somehow, it doesn't quite go that way, and then everything gets rather chaotic, and painful, and black.

She comes to in a cabin, on a ship, no clothes on but with a mother of headaches as the bastard knocked her out. There is medigel, though, and packs of ice, and some stimulants to make her feel better, and even a change of fresh clothes. She can't be bothered with those; when Massani comes, she lies on the bed as she had been. He'd seen it all and perhaps more, anyway.

"Done with stupid shit?" he asks, folding his arms.

"Where's my stuff?" Jack can't even be bothered to look at him. Her throat is oddly sore, as if swollen.

"Which stuff? The one you left five bars behind?"

_Five bars?_ That prick stings; she must have been more stoned than she thought, to have forgotten all about her gear.

The merc pointedly clears his throat. "Why, you're welcome, Jack."

"Well, I guess you've taken your payment already."

"Not much fond of piss and vomit on a cunt, thank you."

That breaks through. "Nobody asked you to!" she glares at him.

"Because you can take care of yourself, right?"

_Right_. That stings even more. It stings so much that her eyes burn, and well over.

The merc hands her tissues, and ice for the lump on her head, as she sobs inconsolably.

* * *

**A/N:**_ So, we're picking off after Jack's breakup with Shepard. The story will cover the time between ME2 and ME3, focusing mainly on Jack in the beginning as Shepard's incarceration doesn't offer much here. The rest of the story will touch loosely on the ME3 storyline and exploit every single opportunity for Jack and Shepard to meet and develop their relationship in between the missions._


	2. Ways of Communication

The omnitool lies on the floor where she smashed it but it doesn't seem damaged.

"Either read it, or do it properly_,"_ Zaeed says, not bothering to take a look at her while manipulating some controls.

"Fuck you," Jack mutters tiredly. She knows that the message is from Shepard, like the other ones before which she deleted without reading. _He left me. Left me. What else is there to say?_

And the merc is fucking annoying.

'_Where are we going? _she asked, and he replied just_, 'nowhere in particular, or did you have any plans?'_

No, she didn't, and still doesn't, not a clue. Sure, she could easily pick on what she had been doing before she was caught and sent to the Purgatory – join some gang, perhaps mercs or pirates, do some killing, get some coin, spend it on crack and fun, get some more, more blood…

She doesn't really want to, though. She feels too numb for that.

_He left me. He left me._

She deleted all his messages without reading, and she is sorry for that

Angrily, she jerks her head. She didn't use to be so soft.

"Don't leave the fucking 'tool on the floor. Flush it down the toilet if you ain't gonna read it, but don't leave it around."

Cursing Zaeed again, she _pulls_ the omnitool to her. She is not so soft so that she couldn't stand the sight of _his_ fucking name, or is she?

It turns out, the message is _not _from Shepard, after all – or perhaps it is, in a way:

_To: Jacqueline Nought_.

_From: The Systems Alliance_, _Admiral Steven Hackett_.

* * *

_**A/N**: The first chapter was for 1st May, and now we're back to the usual Sundaily schedule :-)_


	3. Set Up

The Alliance cruiser is where it was supposed to be, and she paces the small deck, expecting to be blasted down from the sky. Yet, Zaeed seems oblivious to the threat of a trap, and when the contact is made, he jerks his head towards the airlock. "So, what are you waiting for, an invitation?"

Jack plants her hands in her sides. "No, but I've changed my mind. We're leaving."

"We're not, I am. Cut the crap, I have some better job to do."

Then it finally dawns on her. "You got _paid_ to get me here, you fucker?" She shouldn't be surprised that someone betrayed her yet again, but somehow, she didn't see it coming, _again –_"

Unperturbed, the merc crosses his legs. "Sure. I normally don't babysit, you know. But Shepard doubled the offer when I told him."

_Shepard. It all comes down to him, always. That cold blade in my heart._

"You've set me up, you and him? You –"

"If arranging you a clean record, a new identity and a safe hideout with the Alliance is setting you up, then yeah, he did. I'm just a delivery boy here. So, will you go through that fucking door, or do I have to drag you kicking and screaming?"

She goes on her own, of course, and is almost grateful for the line of marines with their guns not _quite_ trained at her, because sneering at them and showing them a finger distracts her from tears.


	4. Favours

She is seated opposite His Fucking Admiralship Hackett, and neither of them bothers to hide the dislike. Jack is tapping her foot impatiently during his speech, and gives him a sneer once he is over. "And that all just because Shepard asked nicely?"

"He insisted. Even though I warned him that arranging a cover-up for someone like _you_ might require pulling favours that could be sorely needed for himself."

Suddenly, that cold blue stare wakes a strange feeling in her stomach. "But, they cannot harm him or something, can they? There is no death penalty any –"

"Being extradited to the batarians might as well be one."

For a moment, she cannot breathe. The next thing she knows, she is standing, leaning across the table, scattering the PDAs and the ID card with a sweep of her hand as she yells at the top of her lungs: "Then take those favours back! Do something, don't let them get him! It's fucking your fault, you got him into this shit, you get him out! Fuck your stupid Academy, I can take care of myself, don't let them do that to him!"

Oblivious to her outburst, the old bastard just sits back. "You can calm down, Miss Nought. It won't happen."

_He was just screwing with me_, she realizes and wants to tell the fucker to shove it and storm out, but instead, slumps back to the chair, feeling exhausted and dangerously close to tears, _fucking again_.

"Shepard was actually quite adamant about this. He said he would sleep much better knowing that you are safe. And since, as you have correctly pointed out, it was me who got him into this, I will simply pull _other_ favours, not to mention that my own influence is not exactly small. It will take time but he will be safe, I can assure you. You can work on your teaching skills meanwhile."

Jack sniffs and has to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. "But – but I don't know a shit about being a fucking teacher…"

The first time since she came aboard, Admiral Steven Hackett smiles a little. "I'm sure that you will be doing fine, provided that you learn to produce at least a single sentence without an F-bomb."


	5. Impressions

"_That's a fucking stupid idea, and a fucking shit of a plan! This will never work!"_

"_Of course it will. A biotic of your strength and skill would never escape the Alliance's attention, you will be _expected_ to have a military history. Working as an undercover agent among pirate gangs will account for your tattoos and… nonconformity… just fine."_

"_I won't be wearing your fucking uniform!"_

"_No-one's offering you one. The army relieved Lieutenant Jacqueline Nought for civilian duty… but do try to wear something less _fancy, _please_."

She just snorted and out of the selection of the offered clothes, picked the least bland pieces, but now that the Alliance shuttle has dropped her on the station hosting the famed Grissom Academy, the first time in her life she ponders that she might have put more thought into her choice of wear.

"_Fuck you all,"_ she grits through her teeth as she strides across the hangar to the group awaiting her. Despite the proclamations about the Academy's non-military nature, the blonde woman walking to meet her emanates the airs of someone used to being in charge and her costume bears a suspicious resemblance to a uniform. The quick look that she gives Jack is one that's generally associated with the Alliance fuckers, as well, and her eyes are the same cold blue as Hackett's.

Jack squares her shoulders. The leather pants are not _as_ tight around her arse as they might have, and the top is not showing tits _much_, so she is not going to take any shit – yet, under the woman's scrutinizing eyes, she suddenly feels as if naked.

_Fuck you_.

Defiantly, Jack reciprocates the look as the woman says: "Pleased to meet you, Miss Nought. I'm Kahlee Sanders, the director of the Grissom Academy. Welcome on board."

Then, suddenly, the blue eyes sparkle with one more glance and the professional mask gives way to a very different expression. "Had I known what the latest issue of Alliance blues looks like, I would have joined. The students will be happy to see someone less conventional."

And Jack cannot but reciprocate the unexpectedly cordial grin, feeling strangely relieved as if she passed some sort of test, though she has no idea what it was.


	6. Acquaintances

"Er… may I…?"

She raises her head abruptly, unused to being addressed during meals. She has picked a table where she could sit with her back to the wall but she never expected anyone to… _what exactly?_

Baffled by her expression, the young man sports a deep blush. "I, uh, I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss Nought, I just meant to ask if I might join you for lunch, as, uh –"

"You wanna – " _fuck, or what_? she nearly spurts, irritated by his blushing and stammering, but checks herself at the last moment, " – take a seat?"

He grins and flusters even more and Jack nearly rolls her eyes. "What the –" – _fuck _"- is your name? – Sorry?" she comes up with something that, hopefully, sounds a bit more teacherly.

"Vincent. Vincent Grafton. Miss Sanders introduced us earlier but I suppose you cannot remember all the names right away –"

No, she cannot, but she does recall his face – rather thin, with big brown eyes, sandy hair and something that aspires to be a moustache. An ordinary face, attached to an unimpressive frame.

_I could rip him in two with my left pinky._

"Hey," she says, hoping it sounds right, "pleased to meet you again."

He takes it as an encouragement. "I teach engineering and a little physics. I specialise in fields and shields and the like."

"Shields? As in, hardsuit shields?"

"Well, not exactly, we didn't have, uh, combat usage here until recently. I deal with static generators but the principle is quite similar –"

She has grasped enough of the _practical _use to be able to follow what he is talking about – and he talks with way more self-confidence than before as well as more _sense_ than she would have imagined. Clearly structured, well-reasoned…

_Teacher talking_, it dawns on her. He knows his stuff, and knows how to pass it on. Intrigued, she listens, and it seems that she has made a favourable impression, as well, because when he finally rises, it's with a broad grin.

Somehow, it gives Jack a sense of achievement, and a little _know how _for the task ahead_. _


	7. Show Me What You Have

They _stare_. Some even gape, while Sanders bitch introduces her and delivers a little talk on "cooperation" and "effort" and what not.

_Yeah, yeah, whatever_, Jack thinks, looking at a girl with olive skin who is exchanging sidelong glances with her neighbour and the corners of their mouths are twitching. _Just cut the crap, and I'll show those little shites who the boss is –_

- and then Sanders is leaving, and Jack is suddenly alone with a bunch of fuckers whom she can't kick or punch or rip to shreds, and they are staring at her with expectant eyes –

- and her mouth is suddenly dry and she is perspiring and there is a lump in her throat and her feet have frozen to the floor and all she can think of is '_oh, fuck'_.

_- don't say it don't say it don't say it –_

"Huh… Hey." She has to clear her throat, at a loss how to proceed, and sees _more_ glances as those fucking kids are getting _ideas_ while she has none, and all that she has prepared has just evaporated, along with all of her brains, it seems.

_Show me what you have_. Shepard's voice, from the very first training sessions, in the Normandy's training hall aka the cargo bay.

And so Jack shifts her feet slightly apart, squares her shoulders, raises her head. "So, you're biotics, right? Show me what you have."

_Still m_ore glances. Jack plants her hands in her sides. "What?"

"Er… the simulator… ma'am." A girl with jet-black hair and slanted eyes nods towards a console.

Jack feels her face freeze, the sweat accumulating in her armpits. _Oh. Right. The Simulator. Fuck. Idiot._

_Fuck._

But, there was no simulator on the Normandy, either.

She jots her chin at the girl. "What's your name?"

"Zhang, ma'am. Yan Zhang."

"Fine, Zhang. We're training _real_ combat here. Show _me_ what you have, if you can get me."

When the lesson is over, the kids are all panting and sweating while Jack is actually fresher than at its start. "Get your energy drinks and go get a shower. See you tomorrow!"

Before the door closes behind her, she can hear one of the boys utter with a mixture of desperation and awe: "Fuuuuck."


	8. Bottled

**Bottled**

Her quarters are small as could be expected on a space station, and she paces across the short of the room only once or twice before she drops on her bed with a groan.

"Fuck," she says aloud, and once again, for a good measure: "_Fuck._"

It's not like she never assumed another identity, never played a role or had to watch her mouth… but never all three simultaneously. Her head is pounding, she's on the edge, even feeling she might fucking tear up, and she cannot even smash anything.

Hitting her pillow with her fist turns out totally unsatisfactory.

"Why. The. Fuck," she accentuates every word with her fist, "did I ever agree to this?"

The walls are as if closing in on her. She's caught in a small cell, with no escape…

Jack runs her hands over her face. She _can_ leave, the station is resupplied on a fortnightly basis, or she might even rent a ship over the extranet. She is here of her own volition, she can walk away whenever she wishes. She owes them nothing, the Hackett fucker, the Alliance, Shepard…

She can, but should she?

She had been on the run for years, successfully, until she ended up in the Purgatory, and there is no fooling herself: had Warden Kuril not been a greedy bastard, he would have sold her to Cerberus the very moment they showed interest, instead of taking his time to increase the price.

And, this was _before_ Shepard.

Shepard pissed TIM alright – she had EDI replay her the recording of their last exchange, and seeing the fucker lose his cool was definitely hilarious – but she cannot hope that her _involvement_ with Shepard remained unnoticed.

_Fuck you. Fuck you. _"Fuck you, Shepard!" she growls, knowing all too well that Cerberus will be after her even more than before, to settle the score with the fucking boyscout who –

With an inarticulate scream, she springs from the bed. "Fuck you all!" she yells at the top of her lungs, unable to hold it inside any longer.

The chiming of the door terminal startles her.

_Sanders. Fuck. Did she hear?_

The woman is smiling her usual way. "I just thought to drop in and check if everything is alright."

"I'm f-fine!" Jack snaps. "I – I am fine, uh, thanks, Miss Sanders," she forces a smile, as well.

Again that quick blue sparkle. "Please, call me Kahlee. And, don't be shy to ask if there is something I can help with, the teaching beginnings can be quite overwhelming. – Though, I'm afraid that arranging an entirely sound-proof door _might_ be a bit of a problem."

* * *

**_A/N_**_: Sorry for not resonding properly to the last round of reviews, the week was rather demanding. Thank you all, guys!_


	9. Intermezzo Interrogated

The handcuffs are too tight, per some fucker's courtesy, and the lamp unnecessarily close, like in some stupid vid. Shepard is _almost _sure that this is for the sake of the batarians who definitely receive the recordings of _some_ of his interrogations, but apparently, his fellow humans are pissed with him, as well.

"Kasumi Goto." The interrogator's voice is getting icy with every name and Shepard cannot quite decide whether this is an act or not.

"Left the _Normandy_ on Omega. Didn't specify any of her plans and didn't leave a contact," Shepard says helpfully, for an umpteenth time.

"You are not being very helpful, Mr Shepard!"

Hearing his name without the rank is a prick that has been used too many times to touch a nerve. "It is your decision to waste your time with questions that I have already answered best I can."

The look he receives is almost murderous and he is _almost_ sure that this must be an act, no-one would send such a moron to interrogate an N7.

"The person going by the moniker 'Jack'. Already charged with terrorism and damaging a space body. You are _sure_ that you have no idea of her whereabouts, Mr Shepard?"

_Always stick to the truth and avoid the question_. He ignores the insinuation and reciprocates the gaze without flinching. "We parted on Omega on not exactly good terms. She didn't confide any of her plans to me, nor has she contacted me ever since."

"Are you _sure_ you have no idea what she is doing now?"

"I am _quite_ sure that whatever she might be doing, she is doing with all her usual vigour."

"For one who is proclaiming loyalty to the Alliance, you seem suspiciously admiring of the criminal!"

"She is the strongest human biotic I've ever met. I'm sure that your records include this information."

A sneer that is probably supposed to be victorious. "I hope you are not going to claim then that your interest in the said delinquent is _purely_ professional?"

Schooling his features into an expression of mild surprise, Shepard doesn't allow himself to think of Jack's eyes, her smiles and kisses. "Well, I am a heterosexual male and I spent months putting my life at stake. Naturally, I was aware of the female members of the team and crew, especially if they were less clothed than the standard. However, as you can easily see from my service record, such observations never affected my professional performance."

_Stick to the truth, avoid the question._

Shepard hopes that this is all an act, or else they might send someone more expert the next time, and he'd have to try harder to avoid lying while keeping the thoughts of Jack at bay.


	10. Roundabout

"Those kids are totally out of shape! They wouldn't last ten seconds in a real combat situation!"

Pacing across Sanders' office, the woman's composed posture only fuels Jack's frustration, together with a persistent reminder of Shepard's conduct during her fits.

"They're not supposed to engage in real combat any time soon," Sanders says calmly. "They're still kids, barely of age, after all."

"As if Reapers give a sh _–_"

– _a fuck –_

"– a chance of mercy or something! They don't care if these are kids or not, they kill everything and everyone that gets in the way!"

"So I am told." Sanders finally rises from her chair. "I didn't say that I disagree."

At a loss, Jack pauses in midstep. Unperturbed, Sanders continues. "While funded by the Alliance, this is not a military facility. This is a school… so that's why the students have lessons of physical education instead of combat training."

"Aaaargh!" Diving into a soft armchair, Jack slams her palm at her forehead. "So why am I here? What am I supposed to do with those kids? They're weak, they're not used to enduring strain or stress or pain, all they can do is make fancy little pulls and tiny blue spheres and shields that wouldn't stop a fart!"

"There used to be…. a different approach," Sanders says quietly, "right in the beginning, when the first generation of biotics was growing up. A military approach. It… didn't go well. This is why biotic children are sent to the Academy, and begin the combat training only after enlisting. Your class is considered an advanced course, or a sort of prep, for military career, but it is still only a transition, and a very fresh thing. There are political trends which do not like the "militarisation" of this school in the least."

"So why the f- am I here at all?"

Sanders' eyes sparkle and her smile becomes a grin. "Now that you have become acquainted with the routine, it's time to give _extracurricular_ training."

Slowly, Jack feels her own lips mimic the expression.


	11. Impressed

"Uugh…" Groaning, Weasley drops back to his bed, his arms trembling. "The woman's crazy like a fuck."

The others giggle, even though they are not in the best shape themselves after the lesson – but, unlike Weasley, they weren't caught up lazying for the third time and assigned a double round of push-ups.

Weasley snorts. "Cra-zy," he repeats with conviction but elicits only further sneers and giggles. Frustrated, he buries his face in the pillow. Not only did he embarrass himself by falling on his face, unable to continue, but the crazy bitch dropped down next to him and did the double round herself, hardly breaking a sweat. He hoped that at least Sylvia Nowak might side with him but instead, she is as smitten with the new teacher as Zhang or Prangley.

"She's a total badass," the asslicker Prangley remarks oh-so-predictably and Weasley stifles another groan in the pillow.

"I wonder how she got those scars," says Rodriguez who has sat silent most of the time. "You know, those on her neck. They… don't look like battle scars, do they? More like… I don't know, some surgery…"

"Or she did it herself to look cool," Hu suggests.

"Or got them while she fucked a turian."

"Or a krogan."

"A whole bunch of them!"

"She kicked their ass first and _then_ she fucked them!"

"To the death!"

Among the laughter and crazy suggestions, Weasley boosts his hurt ego a wee bit. Sylvia is laughing, as well, and he still entertains the thought of hooking up with her, that would definitely make him feel better… provided that his aching arms allow him to perform such an activity. He might even be able to admit that the new teacher does kick ass, as long as the ass is someone else's but his.


End file.
